


Full Color

by eyeofxana



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, Music, One Shot, Short One Shot, Vanya Hargreeves-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-18 17:13:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21530425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeofxana/pseuds/eyeofxana
Summary: There's something in Helen that Vanya has never been able to find in herself.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	Full Color

**Author's Note:**

> My first TUA fic. Thanks for reading!

Helen’s footsteps are fading from the restroom, and Vanya has already closed her fingers around the pill bottle in her pocket.

Is she passionate about the violin? It’s just…what defines her. The only thing that fills her small life; the only thing that’s ever been just hers. She first picked up the violin in an effort to make something of herself—to make herself something. And she’s put so much of herself into it. She’s practiced unrelentingly, played until her neck grew stiff and her fingers callused and her eyes swam from staring at her sheet music.

But is she _passionate_ about it?

Because there’s something in Helen that Vanya has never been able to find in herself. Something that makes Helen’s solos soar so vividly above the string section, that makes her music bloom into color the way Vanya’s can’t. Even on days when Helen stumbles over the notes, there’s still something behind them so beautiful that Vanya’s chest aches with it. She listens as jewel-toned melodies unfurl across the ceiling of the Icarus, watches her own playing struggle to catch the light the same way.

She used to love to play. She remembers that in some bone-deep place, the same place that remembers how to round her wrist when holding her instrument, or where to place her bow to play _sul ponticello_. And she still loves it, but it’s different now. She needs the violin too desperately: needs it to make a living, to pay her rent, to set herself apart. And the more she needs it, the more it seems to resist her. Vanya tries and tries and tries and it never matters. But she can’t stop trying, and that’s what Helen doesn’t understand. She _can’t_. There’s nothing else.

There’s nothing else.

Vanya tips a pill into her palm, swallows to the sound of the door closing. The restroom is oddly lit, all melancholy corners that pull on the light, mirrors like too-bright moons set in a dim sky. The music carrying through has become so distant it’s nearly transparent, and then it stops. Her stomach sinks suddenly, and Vanya stares into the mirror—there’s something—there’s _something_ —

An instant and it’s just her face, just a mirror, just a room. Just something slipping from her grasp like always. She releases a held breath, shifts the constant weight of her violin case against her shoulder. Her reflection is so flat. All her life, she’s been trying to form a complete picture of herself, to pull her own shape from an unending plane of gray. Just to understand herself. But there’s never enough light. There’s never even enough dark.

* * *

Music fills the concert hall, and Vanya can pick out her own notes high above the rest. They blaze with fierce beauty and she feels it, finally, _finally_ , she feels it. It’s there in every slide of her bow, every swell of her melody: in every measure she spins into being, vibrant as a thousand suns. In everything. The distance she’s always felt is closing, everything that ever held her back stripped away. Where she was invisible, now she is blinding. And Vanya _feels_ it. Every brilliant second of it.

She understands now, why nothing was ever enough. Why _she_ was never enough. There was something in herself, some old whispering part of her mind, that truly believed it. She has the whole story now, every horrible piece of it, and it hurts so, so much. Because Vanya’s never known herself. This shadow of a life she’s been living, it's just been such a spectacular waste. And now every deep dark _ugly_ feeling crushed down for so long is spiraling out wildly, guilt and grief and anger sharp enough to draw blood. It’s a shock, how deep it all cuts. She never knew anything could hurt this much.

But there’s still something beautiful in it, something startling and clear shining through. All the splintered parts of her have come to the light: every shade she’d always lacked but couldn’t put a name to. And Vanya can see herself at last.

The music climbs higher and higher, rich garnet and amethyst winding through the theater. Vanya soars far above, watches her notes blossom strong and full across the open air. But it’s still not how it should be. Even as she’s rising like a phoenix, aflame in every color, her mind is drawn back to the ashes. Helen, who should have been here. Leonard, and Pogo, who’d each betrayed her in their own ways. And her siblings. She loved them; Vanya can see that now. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t be able to hate them this much. Even now, even here, she can’t stop seeing it: their backs, turning away from her. Leaving her when she was already so fragmented, in that place that loomed over her even when she couldn’t remember it. They _left_ her. And only Allison— _Allison_ —

But Vanya leaves them behind this time, because this moment is hers. It's all rushing in, now. The world is opening up to her, vast and wild and worth living in, so beautiful her chest aches with it. And Vanya thinks, _finally_.

Finally, finally, it’s all in full color.


End file.
